


window to the soul

by gdragon (gdgdbaby)



Category: Big Bang (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/pseuds/gdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hasn't always had the gallery in SoHo. It's a property he inherited while he was still studying art history at NYU, when the eccentric aunt he wasn't even aware existed passed away and left the place to him, like something straight out of a shitty YA novel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	window to the soul

**Author's Note:**

> au in which seunghyun's the director of a private art gallery and jiyong's one of those recalcitrant starving artist types, written for advent. basically street hipsters vs. young professionals. originally posted at [livejournal](http://gdgdbaby.livejournal.com/102067.html).

"This—" Seunghyun gazes at the dusty paintings hung up in what's _supposed_ to be the new pop art exhibit, blinks and frowns. "This is not what I asked for. At all."

Seungri looks down at his clipboard and sort of wilts. "You said—"

"Storage unit 6E." He hikes a brow. "Don't tell me."

Daesung sighs and snatches the clipboard out of Seungri's hands. "6C—these are from 6C. Nice job, genius."

"It's fine," Seunghyun says with what he hopes is a placating tone. Seungri perks up a little. "Just—make sure all the prospective pieces are hung up by tonight, alright? It opens on Monday night, so unless you wanna work over the weekend—"

"Yes, sir," Seungri chirps, and clutches his messenger bag to his chest. Daesung sends him an exasperated look as they walk out.

Seunghyun exhales slowly and turns back to survey the walls. First grand opening in a month, and he's still got art school undergrads fucking shit up whenever he actually delegates tasks.

"Is there an upcoming still life exhibit I don't know about?" comes Youngbae's voice from behind him. He's got his motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm, hair still wet from a morning shower.

"Don't drip in my gallery." Youngbae shrugs nonchalantly. Seunghyun pinches the bridge of his nose. "One of the interns took the wrong paintings out. Gave them until tonight to fix it."

Youngbae leans in to stare at a smaller piece. "Hey, this one isn't half bad."

"Since when are you an expert on Neo-baroque?"

"Aren't you the one who's always saying that art's supposed to be about eliciting feelings?" Youngbae grins at him. "I _feel_ that this still life is pretty good."

Seunghyun rolls his eyes. "Your stunning commentary is greatly appreciated."

"I know," Youngbae says, and laughs.

 

 

He hasn't always had the gallery in SoHo. It's a property he inherited while he was still studying art history at NYU, when the eccentric aunt he wasn't even aware existed passed away and left the place to him, like something straight out of a shitty YA novel.

All he does with it as first is house some of his friends' art, only curates on occasion when someone's interested in pieces for sale. After he graduates, he tries job-hunting for a couple of years. Shockingly, there's not much he can do with a degree in art history in this economy, especially if he doesn't want to go back to school and pursue academia—and some of the shit Hyunjoong and Kyungil keep nagging him to put up isn't half bad, so he starts paying more attention to the gallery as a viable place of employment. Within the year he's got a good handful of exhibits lined up and his aunt's old friends as the vague structure of a network of potential buyers. He arranges to keep thirty percent of all commissions as payment for the space and goes to work.

The first several months are good, but then Hyunjoong moves out to California to pursue photography, and Bom gets a job as a children's book illustrator and doesn't have as much time for side projects. Art doesn't grow on trees, of course—it isn't something that anybody can churn out all the fucking time. So there's been a bit of a dry spell lately. Nothing a little word-of-mouth advertisement can't fix.

In theory, anyway—in reality, he has two interns to pay and nothing to display after this last exhibition, which means no more people buying art, which means no cash flow. Seunghyun nearly flunked econ twice in college, but even he knows what that means.

"I'm not going to kick you out of the house," Youngbae says later that night, rolling his eyes, when Seunghyun brings the subject of rent up with him. "Come on, dude. I get it. Business is slow. You can pay me when you pay me."

"Let me know if you know anybody," Seunghyun says, waving a hand. "You know, with artistic inclinations, or whatever."

Youngbae leans back, squints at him. "Man, it must be really bad if you're genuinely asking _me_ for help."

"Shut up," Seunghyun grumbles, tossing his feet onto the coffee table and flicking to the next channel on TV. "Desperate times, desperate measures."

 

 

He should've known better than to ask, because over the weekend Youngbae comes up with a plethora of stupid shit, like housing graffiti in the gallery ("What do you want me to do, chip it off the brick and carry it inside?") or buying a bunch of candy to pour all over the floor ("I saw an installation exhibit like that once at the Museum of Modern Art." "Have you ever set foot in MOMA in your entire life?" "Okay, I saw a picture on the internet of an exhibit like that at the Museum of Modern Art. Same thing." "It really isn't.") or buying a bunch of Andy Warhol prints and hanging those up instead.

"It's art, right? Famous art?"

"You're an idiot," Seunghyun says with feeling. "I don't even know why I asked."

Youngbae snorts over his Chinese takeout and shakes his head. "See if I help you with anything ever again."

 

 

It ends up being Seungri, of all people, who delivers any kind of result. "I have this friend," he says on Monday morning, shuffling his feet as Daesung does last-minute inventory. "He—he's kind of allergic to all of this fancy gallery stuff, says it's bullshit—" Seungri swallows a little when Seunghyun raises his eyebrows. "Look—he's really good. I tried to convince him to come but—like I said, he's not really into this scene. So I took photos of some of his old pieces and—well. Just look at them?"

He reaches into his bag and pulls his phone out, hands it to Seunghyun and nervously rocks back on his heels.

Seunghyun flips through the photos—the canvases range from tiny four by sixes to the largest, which seems to be thirty inches by forty, judging by Seungri's hands propping it up. The art itself seems like a cross between Liepke's subjects and Schiele's style, all brightly hued: subtle outlines penciled in over brush strokes that bloom across the canvas, somehow mixing colors that shouldn't work together in ways that do, exercises in contrast and juxtaposition.

The one that catches his eye is quieter than the others, less a riot of color than it is an outline, bare and subtle; it's a painting of a girl's back, her body contorted in midair as she just begins to slip her tank top off, elbows twisting behind her.

"Seungri," Seunghyun says fervently, "I could kiss you."

"Please don't," he says, grimacing.

In the background, Daesung badly disguises a laugh. "So where can I talk to this guy?" Seunghyun asks, ignoring him.

"Uh, I could arrange a meeting?" Seungri says, perking up. "Jiyong-hyung knows a lot of people who are also artists: photographers, painters, everything. They might decide to do exhibitions here, too—you just have to convince him first."

"Will that be hard?"

"No," Seungri says.

 

 

Seungri is a fucking liar.

Jiyong Kwon turns out to be this tiny hipster kid who wears skinny jeans and scarves that swallow half his body whole, has a penchant for dyeing his hair various shades of pink, and smokes too much. He walks in half an hour late and orders a drink so specific that the barista has to ask him to repeat himself three times.

He also clearly has no intention of letting his art be housed anywhere, something he lays out in no uncertain terms within the first two sentences of their conversation. "I thought Seungri was trying to set me up with someone, which is why I came," he says drily, looking Seunghyun over with appraising eyes. "I mean, we could still do that."

"But what about—"

"Listen," Jiyong interrupts, putting his coffee down. "What you're offering is flattering, sure, but I don't really paint to sell things. Which is the whole point of an exhibit at a high-end gallery like yours, right? Profit?"

"It's not really that high-end," Seunghyun mumbles, and wonders when _that_ line became his way of trying to _sell_ a business.

"Right, I guess not, since you're the one trying to find artists, instead of the other way around. In New York City." He grins, and Seunghyun's charmed despite himself, dammit.

"There aren't as many Korean American artists around as you'd think," he says casually, and sees a spark of recognition flicker over Jiyong's face.

"You run that gallery in SoHo."

Seunghyun nods. "You're one of them, so you know. Our particular subset of the mainstream visual art community isn't exactly thriving. Half my regular contributors have left for LA in the past year. More's the pity."

Jiyong purses his lips, thoughtful, and doesn't say anything.

Seunghyun jumps at the opening. "Anyway, selling things isn't the entire point of putting things up for exhibit in galleries."

"You're one of the romantics, then," Jiyong says, expression doubtful.

"Art's meant to be appreciated and shared," he says, shrugging. "It's creative expression. Why wouldn't you want other people to see it?"

Jiyong leans in, head propped on his hands. "I think art is creative expression for its own sake. There are no hard and fast rules. It doesn't matter if no one else ever sees it, as long as I'm happy with it."

"That's very high-brow of you," Seunghyun says, very wry. Jiyong snorts. "So why'd you show it to Seungri?"

"Because he's a little shit who likes to think I hung the moon," he says fondly. "Also, I'm going to kill him for passing it on to you."

"You're very good," Seunghyun tells him, because it's the truth, and because Jiyong seems like the type of person who appreciates the flattery despite all his protestations otherwise.

"You're just saying that because you need my business," Jiyong says, grinning again, decidedly not taking the bait.

"Look," Seunghyun says, a bit desperate. "Why don't we exchange contact information? We can talk about this again later, when you're more amenable."

"You could've just asked me for my number if you wanted it," says Jiyong, tilting his head to the side. "I would've given it to you."

Seunghyun blinks. "What?"

"Never mind." He fishes a charcoal out of his jean pocket—because of course he just carries shit like that around with him at all times, how typical—and scribbles something down onto the back of the receipt for his latte, slides it over the table. "Call me."

"Right," Seunghyun says, and watches Jiyong sweep out of the coffee shop in a whirlwind of secondhand Marlboro.

 

 

"Jiyong said he really liked you," Seungri pipes up, when they're gearing up for Chaerin's opening later that night. She's flitting around the place in a fit of pre-show jitters, Daesung following her around with his clipboard and making minor adjustments that really won't matter at all in the long run.

"Did he," Seunghyun mutters, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. "Evidently not enough to agree to have his art displayed here."

"Well—" Seungri begins, but he's cut off by the deluge of patrons that start streaming into the premises. Seunghyun has to walk around offering champagne and greeting people with Chaerin, and the thread of conversation is lost.

Most of the stuff up today (from the right storage unit now, thank God) is CMYK screen-printing, Chaerin's specialty. Three pieces get snapped up in the first hour, with a fourth on the way. Youngbae arrives later to say his congratulations and kiss Chaerin on the cheek before going home, eyes crinkling at the harried expression on Seunghyun's face.

When Jiyong walks in, Seunghyun _knows_ , because he travels with a posse of presumably like-minded individuals who all dress like they've just stepped off the pages of an American Apparel catalogue. Chaerin lights up like a Fourth of July firework when she sees them come in.

"You know these guys?" Seunghyun asks.

"Sure," Chaerin says, waving at Jiyong, who zeroes in on them quickly. "We went to school together."

"You never mentioned him."

Chaerin gives him a weird look. "Was I supposed to?"

Jiyong slides up next to her, beaming. "This looks great, Chaerin."

"Thanks, oppa," she says, hooking an arm through his.

Seunghyun frowns. "So you were holding out on me."

"Hello to you, too," Jiyong says, serene. "Nice digs."

"Thanks," Seunghyun says coolly.

"Hey, don't be like that, I was just scoping you out," Jiyong protests. "You shouldn't take it to heart."

Chaerin pats Seunghyun on the arm. "For the record, I wholeheartedly vouch for you."

"Thanks," Seunghyun repeats, rolling his eyes.

"You should be happy to see me," Jiyong sniffs. "I brought a bunch of people tonight just to see what you could do. Hyuksoo does these really grotesque oil paintings and would probably be interested in an exhibit, and Seungho's into installation art. If you have a place for them in your busy schedule, of course."

Seunghyun crosses his arms. "Not a chance you've got any personal aspirations here?"

"Depends on what you mean by personal," Jiyong says, smile tugging at his lips.

Seunghyun shakes his head. "I'm not going to give up, you know."

Jiyong's eyes gleam at the challenge. "I look forward to it," he says, and whisks Chaerin away.

**Author's Note:**

> i used [these pencil + watercolor illustrations](http://vectroave.com/2010/05/adara-sanchez-illustrations/) as bases for gd's stuff!


End file.
